Page 78 of Triple Play
“You want her.” Jordie steps closer. “You’ve wanted her since she moved in. Before that, even. And watching her with anyone else is killing you. But instead of doing something aboutit, you’re going to stand here and slut-shame her? Real classy, Cap.”
The words land like bombs.
The kitchen is silent except for the sound of my breathing, too harsh, too fast.
Elise is looking at me with an expression I can’t read. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment.
“Fuck this.” I grab my keys off the counter. “I’m going to the rink.”
I’m out the door before anyone can respond, letting it slam behind me with enough force to rattle the frame.
The morning air is cold enough to burn my lungs but I welcome it. Need it.
Because Jordie’s right. That’s the worst part.
He’s completely, devastatingly right.
I want her. Want her so badly I can’t think straight. And watching her give herself to everyone in that house except me is like dying by a thousand cuts.
But I’m the one who made it that way. I’m the one who kissed her and then called it a mistake. Who pushed her away every time she got close.
This is my fault.
All of it.
And now I get to watch from the outside while she builds something with Jordie and Wyatt that I’ll never be part of.
I get in my car. Peel out of the driveway too fast.
Head to the one place that’s always made sense when everything else is falling apart.
The ice doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t look at me with disappointed hazel eyes that used to hold so much hope.
The ice just lets me skate until my legs give out and my lungs burn and maybe, if I push hard enough, I can stop seeing the way she looked at me in that kitchen.
Like I’m the biggest mistake she ever made.
And maybe I am.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FUN AND GAMES
Elise
The rest of the day passed without incident, but I’m still seething from Grant’s blowup this morning. Jordie appears at my bedroom door with that golden boy grin and those dimples sometime after three that afternoon.
“Mini golf. Ice cream. Terrible decisions.” He’s leaning against my doorframe like he owns it, wearing jeans and a henley that should be illegal. “You in?”
“I have studying to do.”
“You always have studying to do. Come on. You deserve a break after this morning’s bullshit.” His expression softens. “Let me make you forget about Captain Asshole for a few hours.”
The idea of forgetting about Grant—about his accusations, his jealousy, the way he looked at me like I was something dirty—sounds better than anything I can think of.
“Fine. But I’m terrible at mini golf.”
“Even better. I’m extremely good at it, and I enjoy winning.”
